The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The private entertaining room was small, run-down, but very, very clean. Lori and her gentleman secluded themselves inside. To her surprise, the American student found herself setting the lock.

Worse... She’d completely forgotten to take her new client past the bar! Now neither of them had anything to drink.

Youch, what a rookie mistake! How was she supposed to coax this guy to start spending his millions of yen? Men who do not drink do not spend. Lori resisted the urge to slap her own forehead.

The gentleman was watching her, very closely.

Feeling somewhat odd, Lori found herself giggling, then shrugging her shoulders. “Aw, geez,” she mugged, “we forgot drinkies! You want some bubbly, honey?”

Drinkies? the American thought in alarm. Bubbly? Honey? Yes, those had been the words she’d spoken aloud. ‘What am I, a 1920’s floozy?’ she wondered absently. ‘Get it together girlfriend, before this guy dumps you for one of the Japanese girls downstairs...’

“No drinks,” the Japanese man insisted.

“No drinks?” echoed Lori. That strange feeling in her mind was growing stronger. “No drinks?” she repeated, this time in an almost-mocking tone. “What, you think you ’n me can party without some booze?”

“No drinks,” her companion said firmly. Oddly enough, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Although she knew better, Lori felt the chip on her shoulder getting larger. “Naw, dude,” she drawled, using the informal form that she might use to tease a classmate. She jabbed a thumb towards herself. “Mamma says we need drinks. Get me?” Now she pointed at the leather couches. “So you park it, buster, and I’ll get use some juice. Get me? I’ll just need...” She hesitated. “...mmm, three thousand. In cash. Right now.”

Deep down inside, Lori was horrified. ‘What am I DOING?’ she thought, reeling. The Miwaku bar was overpriced, to be sure, but three thousand yen would buy enough liquor for a boatload of sailors.

As if guessing at her deception, the customer lunged forward, grabbing Lori’s right wrist. His grip was firm, but not painful.

“No drinks,” the man said once more, his only eye staring straight into Lori’s soul. “But you will remove all of your clothes. Do it.”

The American student felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. Suddenly, her will dissolved. She couldn’t resist this new demand.

“I will remove all my clothes,” she murmured blankly.

The Japanese man grinned, releasing her. Immediately, Lori felt her hands rise up to reach behind her neck. She arched her back, letting her breasts jut forward. Then her fingers found her dress’s zipper, and she tugged it downwards.

‘What the fuck am I DOING?’ Lori heard herself think.

But she could not stop herself. Her customer had commanded her, and she had to obey. She had to. There was no realistic way to stop herself.

Besides... now that he had spoken... Lori wanted this man to see her naked. She wanted to shed her dress, her shoes, her leggings, even her panties, and she longed for the customer to scrutinize her nude body from head to toe. The thought of his greedy eye rolling over every inch of her... Mmmm...

To her surprise, Lori realized: She was growing aroused!

“Unzip me?” she murmured, turning about, and lifting up her hair.

The customer stepped closer. His thick thumb and finger closed in on the tiny zipper handle, and then Lori felt the dress part as he pulled downward. The stuffy air conditioning felt wonderful on her bare skin!

The American student slipped out of her shoes, sliding her garment down and wriggling her hips at the same time. In one slow, deliberate tease, she pushed her dress, stockings, and panties all the way down to the floor. She still faced away from her gentleman, and it strangely thrilled her to know that he was now staring at her completely naked rear. She almost longed for him to grab her buttocks.

After a slow, tortuous minute, Lori was completely unclothed. She stood up, pleased that her hair had come unpinned, and was now bouncing joyfully around her bare shoulders.

“Turn around,” the customer growled.

Lori obeyed without hesitation. She stood before her man, quietly smiling, inviting him to feast on her nakedness.

And feast he did. “Mmmm...” the man sighed, his greedy eye washing over Lori’s breasts, her trim stomach, her curvy hips, and finally her long legs.

The entranced American wanted to speak. She longed to moan, “Do I please you?” Or even, “Do you like what you see, baby?” But she had not been given permission to speak. Her tongue was still.

“Lie on the couch,” the man whispered, his voice husky with lust. “Touch yourself. You are a slutty American porn woman; show me how you pleasure yourself.”

Lori smiled, pleased for instructions. Suddenly, she wanted to do as she was bid. She wanted to touch herself. She wanted to masturbate, like never before.

Moving as if possessed, Lori lowered herself onto the sofa, spreading her legs very wide. The cool air kissed her genitals, and she gasped a little.

Already, her body was activating. As her eager right hand slid down her smooth stomach, Lori’s legs bent slightly. Her spine arched, pushing her shoulders and butt harder against the soft leather couch. Her left hand wandered, finding one of her nipples. It was erect and harder than stone.

And then... her fingertips touched her own wetness. Lori couldn’t keep her own eyes open. She sighed, allowing her lids to shut as her fingers went to work.

As she began losing herself to the sexual ecstasy, Lori was dimly aware of her customer moving within the room. He strolled to the end of the sofa, positioning himself so that he could see her vagina, and then all the way up her body. The American student moaned, surprising herself that this little voyeurism was making her even more excited. She hoped she was giving a good show.

Lori was not one to enjoy masturbation. In high school, she’d realized that her alluring body, blonde hair, and natural beauty would always guarantee that she could find a sex partner. Physical activity with boys was enjoyable and the proper way to experience orgasm; masturbation was the cheap substitute.

Until now. Now, feeling her customer’s eye upon her vagina, Lori was inspired. She wanted to feel the height of sexual gratification, and she wanted it to come from her fingers, and she wanted this man to watch. She had no inhibitions, no shame whatsoever. He had commanded her, and she was horny to obey.

Lori stroked harder, enjoying the wetness she felt building up in her loins. Ohhhhhhh, this felt so good! So good! Nothing else mattered.

Dimly, the hostess girl was aware that her customer was unzipping his own pants. Perhaps he was going to jack off? Or climb on top of her and fuck her? Or simply get naked? Lori did not put much thought into the matter.

Oh, she was close. She was close! Her vagina sang, gaining new passions with each pass of her fingers. It was so moist down there, Lori could hear the soft wet noise, like someone was crushing a grapefruit. The sound excited her. She bit her lip, and...

The couch moved, and then her customer was on top of her. He was naked, save for the eyepatch. Lori grinned wickedly, delighted that he was about to enter her. She felt his rock-erect cock over her pelvis, and with a quick but skilled movement, she guided his tip right into her hanger.

Normally, Lori liked it when a guy just entered her a little bit, just a few inches in, before retreating. “Inch-fucking,” she’d once called this with a boyfriend. Inch-fucking could drive her wild, because when done just right, her clit was being rubbing nonstop. She didn’t need the deep penetration. She only wanted to be teased into climax.

But that was before her customer had cast this strange love-spell over her. Now, in her sex haze, Lori wanted to be FUCKED. She wanted to feel that marble-like cock shoved deep within her, as if it was trying to ram all the way up her spine. She wanted to feel the power of this man’s hips. She wanted to be rocked so hard, her teeth rattled. She wanted to be throttled so that her screams of joy would escape her lips, and people six blocks away would hear her and feel nothing but burning jealousy.

Lori pushed her hips forward, coaxing her man, angling her canal for his entry. And Eyepatch did not disappoint.

The first thrust rocketed all the way in, hammering her at top speed. Lori shrieked in delight, clawing the Japanese man’s shoulders. She barely had a chance to cry out when he plunged in again. And then again. And then again!

Now the man was fucking her at lightspeed, and it was all Lori could do to hang on and keep her bones from flying apart. She felt as if she was riding a locomotive into a heaven of sinful delights. Her vagina, already on the edge of a massive orgasm, couldn’t take all the stimulation.

Lori came.

She wailed in happiness, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and pulling her man to her even closer. He was breathing heavily, and she was thrilled to feel the sheen of sweat on his back. The cock was plugging her even harder now, even harder!

When the Japanese man climaxed, Lori didn’t even notice. Her mind was blasted into another dimension, alight with wonder and happiness. Her thoughts winked out, and she smiled as she fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Lori was a little uncertain what happened next. She was dreaming, her mind drifting along in a wonderous, cloudlike environment. Her body felt wonderful, as if she’d spent a nonstop week at the spa. Every muscle tingled with satisfaction and joy.

Dimly, the American student was aware of her customer rising off her, putting on his clothes, then stumbling from the room. She didn’t care. In fact, as he departed, Lori hoped he felt as wonderful about himself as she felt now.

And then... some time later... there was a small hand on her shoulder. A voice was speaking to her. A voice, unfamiliar yet comforting. The voice told her that she would forget, that her mind would release the memories of everything that had happened to her. Instead, she would believe...

“Hey girl,” Ayaka smiled. “Was he a good tipper?”

Lori blinked. Where was she?

The American looked about, the universe rapidly falling into place about her. She was in her black evening dress and matching heels. Her hair was down. She and Ayaka and perhaps a dozen other hostesses were standing in Miwaku’s foyer, waiting for customers. It was late.

It was very, very late. Almost 11:45! Miwaku would be closing soon.

Ayaka was still smiling, awaiting an answer.

“Oh,” Lori said, her thoughts coming into order. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, that eyepatch guy?” She smiled. “Oh, he was actually so sweet. He just wanted to talk about...” Lori paused, searching her memory. “...oh, about the law firm where he works. He’s a senior partner. We just drank champagne and talked for ages.” She smiled absently.

Ayaka broke out into a pleased grin. “I knew you could do it,” she nodded.

The lights in Miwaku went out shortly after 1 AM. The last of the hostess girls departed, then the small kitchen staff, and then the club’s two bouncers. Ms. Fujimura, who would have to be back on-premise early in the morning, had long since left.

But up in the club’s office, Mr. Hatanaka sat at his desk, booting up an old laptop. As the computer slowly came to life, he lit a Parliament cigarette, then released the band that contained his ponytail. It had been a stressful day. He needed to relax, badly.

The laptop was ready. Frowning, the club manager popped a memory stick into the side, then clicked around until he found the video file he was looking for. He clicked PLAY.

The screen filled with a grainy image. Lori and her eyepatched customer were in one of the entertainment rooms; the camera was spying on them from a hidden vantage in the ceiling. As Hatanaka watched, the American girl shifted her hips back and forth, clucking, “Aw, geez, we forgot drinkies! You want some bubbly, honey?”

“No drinks,” Eyepatch rumbled.

Hatanaka watched carefully as the customer’s fantasy unfolded. Lori responded perfectly, carrying out her hypnotic programming without the slightest awareness of how she was being controlled. She became a saucy slut, just as ordered. Then, she lost her inhibitions and became deeply aroused, exactly when the customer had directed. She fucked him like a porn star. She performed like a pro.

And, best of all, she remembered nothing afterword. To her, the whole episode would be little more than the fragment of a lost dream.

Exhaling smoke, Hatanaka mused to himself. The video made him feel slightly better. Clearly, the hypnosis worked on the girls. Lori was not the first to be entranced and controlled, but she was the first to strip naked and shag a customer. And the man had left very, very satisfied. Already, he’d placed two more orders for time with the blonde girl.

There was room for improvement, however. The customer had fucked Lori without protection. So the club policy would have to insist on a Safe Sex Only policy, and Hatanaka would have to think about how he could make sure his patrons were always following the rules. And what if a customer wanted to get physically violent during a fantasy? There were some serious logistical problems yet to be worked out.

And yet... the initial results were promising. Very promising.

Hatanaka stabbed out his Parliament, already reaching for another. The eyepatched man had paid twenty million yen for his tryst with the fantasy American blonde. And it was fairly obvious he would have paid more. Much more.

Ms. Fujimura had been right. The key to higher profits was to expand the additional services.

January rolled into February.

While Lori was having trouble finding enough time in the week for sleep, she was by-and-large very pleased with how she’d managed to land on her feet. Why, had it only been a month ago that her idiot mother had left the whole Greene family destitute? And while Lori’s siblings were scraping for college loans and working fast food, (ha!) the American blonde was still living comfortably in one of the world’s most glamorous cities, paying her own way with money to spare. And all she had to do was romance a few desperate Japanese men. She felt lucky to have beaten the system.

Even better, Lori was discovering what a good friend Ayaka could be. Now that the two women shared a dark secret, they learned to commiserate. They shared private jokes. They became experts at doing one another’s makeup, which quickly translated to becoming each other’s fashion consultant. Lori trusted Ayaka’s tutorage in Japanese culture; Ayaka liked Lori’s taste in clothes and colors. They were becoming sisters.

One of Lori’s best days since becoming a Miwaku-Tekina hostess came on a Sunday, her one day off. Bored with catching up with schoolwork, Lori and Ayaka spontaneously decided to go shopping together.

“We deserve it!” crowed Ayaka.

Lori needed little encouragement. Soon, the two women were at the exclusive HERBIS ENT Plaza Mall, inspecting racks of gorgeous clothes at Gucci and Tiffany’s. It was fun. Knowing that Ayaka was hunting for hostess outfits, Lori could suggest options, then tease her Japanese roommate in that playful way only two close girlfriends could use.

Six hundred thousand yen later, the two ladies were sharing a sushi lunch platter at the HERBIS food court. Lori scanned the crowds about them, enjoying the moment.

But soon, she realized she was focused on the men. All around, there were Japanese men of all ages, all sizes, from all walks of life. Fathers, shoppers, food servers, janitors, boyfriends, business executives, retirees, vendors... they were all swirling about her.

“Hey,” Lori said suddenly. “How many of these guys do you think would be Miwaku customers?”

Ayaka looked up in surprise. She considered the question. “Actually...?” she thought out loud. “None of them.”

“None?” Lori echoed.

Nodding, Ayaka selected another eel roll with her chopsticks. “The Miwaku customers, they may be rich and powerful in their business lives. But I think that they come to the bar because they simply don’t know how to have a normal, healthy relationship with a woman.”

“That’s a problem in modern Japan,” she added woefully. “One of the reasons our birth rate is dropping, I think. There are a very small—but growing—number of men who want fake fantasy women than real ones.”

“Huh,” said Lori.

Ayaka flashed a mildly annoyed look. “Hey, chick, I’ve been to America,” she huffed. “Your country has issues with men’s sex fantasies, too.”

“True,” Lori agreed. Slyly, she teased, “So why don’t you and me move to America and open a hostess bar there? We could straighten out all of America’s perverts, then come back to fix Japan.”

Ayaka blushed... but grinned sheepishly. And Lori burst out into a delighted gale of laughter.

Just when Lori thought that she had it all made... calamity struck.

“Miss Greene, can you make an appointment with International Students?” a receptionist asked. Her polite voice sounded small and tinny on Lori’s cellphone speaker.

The American student frowned, annoyed at this distraction. She was in her bedroom, rearranging her closet for the umpteenth time. Since her initial money scare, she’d added at least twenty new outfits to her wardrobe.

“What’s this about?” Lori demanded, flipping through her many skirts.

“I... cannot say,” the receptionist admitted. “But you are advised to come in. Immediately.”

There was something about the mousey woman’s voice that snagged Lori’s attention. The student sighed. “Do you have any appointments available this afternoon?”

Osaka University’s International Student Office was slightly off-campus, but luckily close to Lori’s “Gender Roles in the Media” class. She darted in for a face-to-face with the next available councilor.

Which turned out to be a Mrs. Sukimora, a depressingly thin woman with a sunken face. Lori sat before Sukimora’s desk, already impatient to be on her way.

“Miss Greene,” Sukimora-san said quietly, pulling up Lori’s records on the computer. “Thank you for coming in. I’m afraid there is a flag on your tuition and Visa status.”

Lori blinked. She’d assumed this meeting had something to do with her sliding grade point average.

“It seems...” Mrs. Sukimora said, scanning Lori’s electronic file, “that your regular tuition funds are no longer available.” She glanced across her desk at the young American woman. “Have you had a change in banks or financial status?”

“Oh, that,” replied Lori, relieved. “Yes, my family has had some money hardships.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the university administrator said, her voice completely devoid of any compassion.

“I was originally paying for classes through my trust fund,” Lori explained. “But, no worries, I can pay for my upcoming semesters through... ah, different means.”

“I see,” Sukimora nodded. “I must ask: how are you attaining this money? Do you have a job?”

Before thinking, Lori said, “Yep. I just started. Last month.”

The ends of Mrs. Sukimora’s mouth turned downward as she studied her computer. “I do not see a job permit on file,” she said, her tone disapproving. “You know that to earn money while in Japan, you need a letter of sponsorship from your employer. We must have that on file for when the government reviews your Visa status.”

Lori’s smile melted away. “A sponsorship?” This was new to her.

“Yes,” Sukimora frowned. “It is the law. Or else, you will lose status. And be deported.”

Lori’s stomach was in knots for the rest of the day. The thought of being kicked out of Japan was more than she could bear. And what would she do, if forced back to the United States? There were no hostess bars there. What would she do for money? Flip burgers at Wendy’s, like her siblings? No thank you!

There was no other option but to speak with Mr. Hatanaka. Lori arranged to be at Miwaku-Tekina early, and thankfully found the club administrator at his desk. Ms. Fujimura, as always, was hovering in the background.

Taking great pains to be respectful, Lori explained the situation. “What I would ask of you, Hatanaka-san,” she said, mid-bow, “is for a letter of sponsorship. It would simply state that I work for you, in this place.”

Hatanaka and Ms. Fujimura did not seem pleased. They shared dark expressions as Lori detailed her plight. “This sponsorship...” Hatanaka rumbled. “I would be saying to the government that you draw a salary here?”

“Er, yes,” Lori said. She added, “But they just want to know that I am employed at a Japanese-owned company. Nothing more.” She hoped that was true.

Hatanaka rubbed his forehead. He looked stressed.

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing up a letter for you, Hatanaka-san,” Lori said quickly, placing a typed paper on the desk. “All you need do is sign it.”

“I will consider,” Hatanaka grumbled. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It is almost six o’clock. You should be downstairs for opening, no?”

Lori glanced between the two Japanese, wishing she knew what to say to prod them into action. ‘What’s the holdup?’ she thought, annoyed. ‘Just sign the letter!’

But such aggressive notions were not the Japanese way. Knowing she would not make any headway with protest, she simply bowed, then turned and left.